


Tension

by rinwins



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Backrubs, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 18:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19873828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinwins/pseuds/rinwins
Summary: Aziraphale just really wants to help.(Short, hurt-comfort-y, pining-y, touchy and a little fluffy- plus a strong cup of tea.)





	Tension

Crowley slams into the bookshop, clatters a handful of books off of a chair onto the floor, crashes the chair around, and eventually collapses sideways into it as if it’s personally offended him. A customer browsing nearby looks at him, shocked. He hisses at her and she scuttles away.

“Really, my dear,” says Aziraphale, emerging from the back, “there’s no need-”

And then he sees Crowley’s face.

Hastily, the angel puts down a second stack of books, shoos out the few remaining customers, and flips the sign on the door around to read ‘CLOSED’. The door locks itself.

“Crowley,” he says, much softer, “what’s wrong?”

“Had a meeting Down There. Hauled me over the coals.” That’s not, when a demon says it, necessarily a figure of speech. 

“Oh, but you thought they’d be so pleased with that- inter-net? was it?”

“They are not.”

“Would you… like to talk about it…?” Aziraphale tries.

Crowley scrubs his hand over his face. “I would not,” he mutters.

“Oh,” says Aziraphale. “Well- come into the back, anyway, and I’ll fix you something to-” But he cuts himself off again, because he’s come forward to put a comforting hand on Crowley’s back, and it’s so tense he can _feel_ it. He gasps and pulls his hand away.

“Oh, my dear-”

“Don’t _you_ start-”

“Let me help you with-”

“Don’t you _dare_ miracle me,” Crowley snaps. 

Aziraphale stares at him, with his hand still halfway extended. “I,” he says, “I’m-”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley says, getting there first. He drops his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, angel, I know you want to help. But you can’t.”

“Maybe I can,” says Aziraphale, slowly, thinking. “No miracles, I promise. Will you let me try?”

-

In the little back room, Aziraphale brews them both some tea- Crowley’s cup fortified with a bit of honey and a bit more whiskey- and cautiously helps the demon out of his jacket. He sits him on a chair facing backward, with his tea on the table in front of him, and rolls up his own sleeves.

“Should I… be doing something?” says Crowley, trying very hard not to sound suspicious.

“Not at all,” says Aziraphale. “Just sit still and try to relax.”

He thinks Crowley might have stiffened, when he first puts his hands on his shoulders, but he’s so tense already that it’s hard to tell. Aziraphale tries his best to be gentle, but Crowley still hisses a few times as he works out the knots in the muscle.

It’s worst at his upper back, right at the shoulder blades. Where wings would be, Aziraphale realizes, and he can’t help letting out something like a hiss of his own. He risks pressing harder there, first with the heels of his hands, then with his thumbs, and Crowley- makes a sound that Aziraphale isn’t sure he’s _ever_ heard before- but he does relax. 

“Is that all right?” Aziraphale says softly.

“Are you sure this isn’t a miracle,” Crowley mumbles, with his head down on his arms.

That’s probably a good thing, because it means he can’t see the look on Aziraphale’s face.

There’s some supernatural stress he can’t do anything about- he did _promise_ \- but he makes absolutely sure, smoothing his hands over Crowley’s back, his shoulders, his neck, that every bit of physical tension dissolves. Strangely, he finds it relaxes him as well.

“How do you feel?” he asks, at last.

Crowley turns slightly sideways to look up at him, and the relief on his face is almost too much to take. “Angel-” he says.

Aziraphale smiles. “Thank you,” he says, getting there first.


End file.
